


Protocol

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Drowning, Gen, M/M, injuries, tanker incident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Why didn’t you run</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That was the protocol</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Why did you come back for me</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> Was prompted with "splash" :)

_Splash_

Then the sharp whine of the codec taking in water and frizzing out.

Then silence. 

And darkness. And cold. 

God, so cold, even through the suit. The water is so cold and oppressing Snake feels like he’s being crushed. He tries to move, tries to swim, even though it’s so dark he has no idea where the surface is. The pain is so blinding it cuts through the cold and the darkness like a blade. 

Fuck. 

His arm must be broken. 

He kicks his legs as much as he can, dragged and swallowed by the suction of the tanker sinking.

_I have to get out_

_I have to stop Ocelot....Liquid....whoever that was_

He brings is broken arm to his ear, presses down, screams internally as loud as he can, _Otacon, Otacon, can you hear me, can you...._

Just the whine of the codec.

Fuck. 

His lungs are burning, his limbs numb. If he could see anything, his vision would be graying, but he’s in total darkness, already sinking into a deep, cold tomb. 

_Otacon_

_Hal_

_please answer_

Otacon does not answer, and his final thought as the last of his oxygen leaves his slack mouth is that it’s better that way. 

He better respect their protocols and hide. 

At least he’ll be safe.

_Hal_

_I’m sorry_

***

Pain brings him back, a crunching, wet pain and burning lips on his, air forcing its way in his lungs full of water.

He coughs, acid water spraying out of his mouth and nose; his lungs burn, his throat, his heart, his everything burns. 

“Oh my god,” croaks Otacon in the distance, behind a wall of white noise and pain. “Fuck. Thank you god.”

He’s turned on his side, and he keeps coughing, sputtering, struggling for air. His brain is like a forest fire, trying to assess the situation even as it burns and flares. Broken arm. Broken ribs. Near drowning. How long was he out of oxygen. Enough for brain damage, probably. And....

“Snake.” Otacon’s hand is like a vice around his shoulder, trembling with panic and adrenaline. “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

“Hal,” he spits, and fuck, that hurts. Lights flash into his vision. 

“Don’t....I got you. Don’t worry. We’re going, we’re leaving, I got you.”

_Why didn’t you run_

_That was the protocol_

_Why did you come back for me_

But they’re all useless questions because even in his haze, Snake knows the answer, and it’s the same reason he’d break protocol as well to go back for Hal, anytime, any place, even if the world burns. 

Snake drops his burning head on the bottom of the boat, taking one shaky breath that manages to stay down, broken ribs nothwithstanding. 

“I got you, David,” whispers Otacon, fumbling with the boat’s engine, free hand tangled with Snake’s weak fingers. “I got you.”

Snake closes his eyes, the rumble of the boat and the still bubbling water slowly fading as he lets himself pass out.

_Splash, splash._

It’s fine. Hal’s got him.

_Splash._


End file.
